And she was letting out little mewls of pain that did strange things to his stomach.

His first instinct was to rush to help her. He was still a gentleman, after all, beneath any disguise he chose to don. And a gentleman always came to the aid of a woman in pain. But he hesitated. She wasn't in that much pain, after all, and what the devil was she doing in his cottage, anyway?

Could she be the blackmailer?

And if so, how could she have known that he was here to investigate? Because if she weren't investigating him, why would she rifle through his belongings? Nice girls- the sort that acted as companions to aging countesses- didn't do that sort of thing.

Of course she might be nothing more than a petty thief, hoping that the new estate manager might be a down-on-his-luck gentleman with a few family heirlooms in his possession. A watch, a piece of jewelry of his mother's- the type of thing a man might be loath to part with, even if his circumstances had forced him to seek employment.

She closed her eyes and sighed, turning around as she did so. "I am the clumsiest girl in all England, the biggest nodcock in all Britain-''

He moved in closer, arching his neck as he tried to catch all of her words.

Crunch.

"Damn," James mouthed, moving quickly so that his back was pressed up against the outside wall of the cottage. It had been years since he'd taken such a careless step.

"Who's there?" she called out.

He couldn't see her any longer; he'd moved too far away from the door for that. But she sounded panicked. As if she were going to run outside at any moment.

He scooted away, quickly positioning himself between the stables and the cottage. When he heard Aunt Agatha's companion leave the building he would stroll out into the open, looking for all the world as if he'd just arrived on the scene.